


(after) the end

by nestofthorns



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Friendship, Gen, POV Second Person, Possibly Pre-Slash, Rebuild 3.0, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:49:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5342978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nestofthorns/pseuds/nestofthorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this world (you've broken), he's smiling.</p>
<p>Glimpses of Shinji's life, after the world ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(after) the end

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: expect non-canonness. This was pretty much written based on some screenshots and fanfics, so basically it's bits of canon mixed in with lots of creative imagination. I tried to keep them as in character as possible, though.  
> There may also be inaccuracy in my use of musical terms. I'm not a musical person, sorry.

_It’s not my fault._

She grasps your chin, jerks it upward with a sharp _crack_ —nails digging into and breaking clammy skin—and cold metal clamps down on your neck. Blood trails down your chin.

“One wrong move from you, and I will ensure your death.” It’s your sister’s lips casting the words, but this woman cannot be your sister. This woman’s black hair is wrenched into a severe twist, wild strands brushing her face in a way that should have softened the harsh angles of her face, but her grey eyes glare into yours with the calm of the eye of a storm.

This woman is not your sister. This is the General. She has hung the noose around your neck, and she will pull it. To save the world—from you.

You pulled the Spear. You destroyed the world.

_But it’s not my fault; I just wanted to save Rei—!_

The world is broken. Because of you.

.

.

The first time you meet the boy with pale skin and paler hair, it is in a grassy plain where time stills and the earth is, for the first time since you opened your eyes to this new world, green and not grey. The towering skeletons of the broken city hang in the background, a distant concern. He is lying on the grass, lidded eyes staring out into the ever-burning sky and a lax curl playing on his lips.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” He smiles, stretching out a hand in invitation. You don’t know him, despite the uneasy déjà vu that lingers at the back of your mind when you look into his red eyes (not because of the colour, because despite its similarity to Rei’s, this red shines brightly with warmth and adoration, and the contrast is disconcerting at best).

You know what he is, though—alien, a note out of place in this discordant world for its harmonious nature. One glance is enough to tell you that this is a dangerous creature. You should stay away from him.

Yet. He’s smiling.

In this world (you’ve broken), he’s smiling.

.

.

“Let’s dance.”

Your eyes widen. “But, there’s no music—!”

The world spins with him. “It’s fine. Just dance.”

With an impish smile too carefree for this bleeding, grey world, he tips you backwards. You squeak indignantly, stumbling feet struggling to catch your balance on slippery grass.

“You—!”

“You’re red,” he teases. It’s true. Your cheeks feel too warm. You turn your head, hiding your mortification. He chuckles. Having fun at your expense—how cruel.

It’s too much. You can’t help but fall into his thrall, to laugh along with him.

Under the curtain of stars, on this hidden stage where life flourishes in the shadows of crumbling hulks of metal, the two of you laugh as the silent music prances on and on. The world parades onwards and fades, the lingering echo of its cheerless drums melting away to a timeless space. Your melody plays on, his grace and your hesitance threading into a frayed, radiant note.

It’s absurd.

You’re both ridiculous.

.

.

_It’s not your fault, but it is your responsibility._

_We can fix this._

You’re hiding in your room, again. Head resting on the metal wall, you turn his words over and over in your mind. The rush of the gale from two days ago is weeded out, leaving behind only the clear echoes of his words.

You can fix the world. He said you can. You _have_ to.

The icy metal barely stings, compared to the guilt resting heavily in your chest.

You still haven’t thanked him, have you?

.

The lean figure sways, puppet to the twirls his fingers dance over ivory keys. The music twists, the rhythm falls; his back bends, the harsh arc of his spine embellishes the soft adagio beats, lending tension where there is none. He meshes with the world’s requiem by not meshing at all; he’s unreal, an abnormality.

Rose-coloured lips stretches over a canvas of cold, white marble as he smiles. His head slants, towards you. Those red eyes see through your heart and peek into all the secrets you have hidden for so long, from the world. You should be scared, you don’t want anyone to see, but you don’t feel cold and you don’t want to rip out his eyes and hide their knowledge from the world.

You just want to see him too.

Silence takes up the beat. The new rhythm stumbles clumsily, off-beat but not unsure—rather, it vibrates with anticipation. It is waiting. He is waiting. You want to run away and hide in your room until the world crumbles into nothingness.

You take a step forward, to him.

“I wanted to see you,” it bursts out like stuffing from a ripped seam, like the spilt entrails of corpses crushed beneath crumbled skyscrapers. Embarrassing. You are embarrassing. “I... wanted to thank you.” There. You have said it. You don’t understand why your throat still feels clogged. Isn’t this enough? Is it? You don’t know.

You realise you are only a step away from him when he takes your hands in his. His marble skin is warm. He is still smiling. Waiting. All reassuring and calm, as if the world is a non-entity he can brush away with a flick of his fingers. You hate it.

“How... how do you do that?” How can he keep smiling all the time? You don’t understand. It’s unreal. He’s abnormal.

Someone made a self-deprecating sound. You realise it is not yours, for once, because it is not just in your head. He is speaking, saying, “How... I guess it’s because this is what I know.”

...You want to shake him. You want to shout, “That’s not an answer!” into his ears, and see him flinch—

“What about you? Why haven’t you given up?”

_...Why?_

You want to be loved.

You want to hate.

You want to be understood, to be held. You want to hide, to be left alone, to be safe.

You have a lot of wants. Words aren’t enough. Your thoughts fly away, as blithe as butterflies fluttering through the spiralling and looping clouds, to the heavens you will never reach with your useless earthbound legs. Your mouth opens, pouring out a void that will crack open a gaping expanse between the two of you. This is the end, yet again. You are useless; always, _always_ silent when you need to speak. You don’t know why you tried.

He says nothing. His smile remains. He tugs, and you are in his arms.

It’s warm. You want to cry, and you shoulder sags. You have never expected relief would feel so heavy.

.

.


End file.
